


painter

by swishandflickwit



Series: The Devil's Lucky Number [10]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Chloe KNOWS, Deckerstar - Freeform, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, deckerstar fanfiction, he is risen, post-reveal, some tender deckerstar lovin, this made me so soft lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 11:29:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18520573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swishandflickwit/pseuds/swishandflickwit
Summary: "I wanted to be a painter."In which Chloe confesses to a hidden desire.





	painter

**Author's Note:**

> Ya'll. Did you know Lauren German paints?? And pretty damn well too??? Then I know my eyes always drift to that whole wall of Trixie's paintings in Chloe and Maze's apartment and it got me thinking, surely Trixie got that creativity _somewhere,_ right?
> 
> Thus, this was born.
> 
> Also, idk anything about painting save for the quick Google search here and there so I'm _really_ sorry for any inaccurate portrayals of art/incorrect usage of terms and therefore plead artistic license. *insert peace sign*

She mentions it once.  _Once._

“I wanted to be a painter.”

The confession floats like a bubble in the space between them—fragile, fleeting and all too personal. His fingers glide along the silk sheets, searching, till they tangle with hers in a veritable knot of harmony.

“What happened?”

She shrugs, the blanket over them shifting with the movement.

“Life.”

And it’s a testament to how far they’ve come when he doesn’t ask her to further explain, sensing the heartbreak of her father’s death—as fresh now as the day she lost him—in her countenance.

So, she really shouldn’t have been surprised when she wakes up a week later, alone in the penthouse save for an easel, a blank canvas and the best oil painting materials money can buy.

She wants to be angry at the display of wealth at her expense, but she’s really feeling the Rachel McAdams The Notebook vibes when she’s out on the balcony in nothing but her birthday suit, her skin sun-warmed and the white of the canvas slowly dissolving into an explosion of colors.

So she lets it go this one time.

It comes back to her—in simmering gradients sure, but it’s amazing what her hands remember when she doesn’t think too much. Before her abrupt shift in career interests, she recalls how heavily influenced she was by the impressionism art form—specifically portrait painting. Yet she starts with a lot of freestyle and abstract, just to test the waters of her skill. But she’s constantly inspired by Trixie’s own unending creativity and by the people around her, it’s clear that her mind and body are unanimous in abandoning artistic tepidness for passionate expression.

At the very least, it gives her an excuse for her recklessness when Lucifer observes the growing pile of portraits in his abode and cheekily proposes, “Would you consider doing a nude of me? In fact,” he continues with a smirk, “you’d be surprised at the massive amounts of famous nude portraits that are _actually_ based on yours truly—” that she blurts out, “Okay.”

He had been kidding, and so obviously hadn’t expected her eager agreement. But to his credit, his sluggish blink is the only indication of his surprise. Even more befuddling is the seriousness with which he executes the task—an almost clinical detachment when he withdraws to his closet and ditches his clothes.

(She wants to ask where this professionalism goes when they’re working on a case, but is as reluctant as he to break the odd, solemn trance they had fallen in)

“You’re quiet,” she comments, her whisper a comparable shout in the quiet of his apartment. “The moment you dropped your robe, I expected about seventeen innuendos to come flying out of your mouth.”

The same mouth she finds herself centimeters from as she positions him in a way the shadows and light would best compliment his figure—her sweet breath flirting with his ripe, red lips. Idly, she wonders at the colors she’d have to mix and how it still wouldn’t manage to capture the vibrant shade to precision.

“Chloe,” he nearly whimpers, chasing her tongue when she licks her bottom lip as she retreats. “Surely you know by now there is nothing I wouldn’t do to ensure your happiness. I would not take lightly that which so clearly ignites your desire.”

And _what the fuck?_ Who the Hell gave him the right to be so damn wonderful? So achingly haunted but so intrinsically _beautiful_ without him being aware of it?

So with her fingers, she sculpts filigree onto the swooping planes of his flesh, and with her mouth traces exquisite patterns onto the valley of his chest.

She’ll finish the damn portrait, but her love for him is too vast and uninhibited (secretly, she hopes it always remains this way) to limit within the measure of a canvas so just… just for now—

She desires for her hands on his body to do most of the painting.

**Author's Note:**

> I really loved writing this. I am so soft for Deckerstar lmao.
> 
> And you guys, I just want to say thank you so much for all your support. You loyal readers, **I see you.** I know I'm behind on replies but I read each and every comment, and from the bottom of my heart, I appreciate you all. Just when I think I'm losing stamina for this fic, you surprise me with your kind words so yes to you all, keep it up, your feedback is the fuel that ignites _my_ desire lmao so I love you all.
> 
> As always, if you have any requests hit me up here or on my [tumblr](http://swishandflickwit.tumblr.com/) and see you in the next installment!


End file.
